As men and boys alike stepped over the gangplank and upon the deck of the longship, many could not help but feel the captain's gaze scrutinizing them like an honed knife, slicing menacingly up and down their features in stark appraisal. Of these who paid him mind, the nervous and worried could be distinguished rather easily, with but a modicum of inference, from those more calm, collected, controlled; in a word, more experienced. While some acknowledged Hralding with a curt nod and proud bosom, others flinched from the intensity of his bright eyes. Of these, some blushed, feeling shame for having failed him so quickly by the quick-footedness of their courage, which retreated into some deep crevice of their hearts. While all knew his name and his face, the warrior appeared to hold few friends among the crew, as none let his name cross their tongues, and no lips deigned to smile in acknowledgement of his large, handsome features. He was a neighbor, and in time perhaps, a comrade, but not a confidant to any of these spoiled lots, from the youthful boys to the seasoned, stained criminals.

"Does this ship have a name?" asked a would-be soldier, rather young in the face but with long red hair braided immaculately in a wise style. His mail shirt did not fit him; it was much too large and baggy, so it probably belonged to the father or an uncle despite perfection glittering in its links. Whoever owned it before, he had polished it meticulously.

"[i]Sjórheror[/i]," Hralding hissed. [i]Sea-arrow[/i]. This wonderfully excited the young lad, who, like the witch, was quite particular about which oar would be "his" in just a few minutes, as he marched up and down the rows in search of this perfect bench. Hrífa meanwhile hopped back on board, averting the crowds near the gangplank through his daring. This time he nearly tripped as he landed, the shield's [i]guige[/i] catching on some corner or other in his descent. Still, despite his waning grace, Rat-eater looked immensely proud of his new shield, which was both clean and roundly sturdy, the rawhide lining scarcely scratched, no less bitten into by sword or axe! On its facet was painted a gold eagle over a green field, its august wings curling like tendrils of fire.